


no mix of seeds and soil

by friendly_ficus



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: (sort of) spoilers for ep 3, F/F, Not Canon Compliant, also probably pretty ooc i simply don't know yet, bulbian church more like scam-ian church, throwing canon in a blender has a new horrifying context with this universe, what a mockery this season has made of me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23835013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendly_ficus/pseuds/friendly_ficus
Summary: It might not be a good thing, what they’ve got going. Annabelle isn’t sure she’d even call it athing,not suregoingis the word to use. It’s more a respite, a reprieve; something familiar to fall into.(It’s just that the Duchess of Uvano is lovely, it’s just that the anger simmers in her eyes, it’s just that for everything Annabelle’s thrown away in her pursuit of freedom she’s never quite let go of sentiment.)
Relationships: Plumbeline Uvano/Annabelle Cheddar
Comments: 10
Kudos: 39





	no mix of seeds and soil

**Author's Note:**

> fully timeline-what-timeline, lore-what-lore shenanigans happening here. in no way do i expect any of this to be remotely canon lol

The first time Lady Plumbeline Uvano meets Lady Anabelle Cheddar, she’s only the daughter of the Prince of the Dairy Islands, her string of ceremonial titles just words recited by a herald. She’s come to the palace in Comida along with her father Prince Tarthur, Plumbeline knows, because her father had wanted her there when he welcomed his old friend from the war and he’d mentioned that the Prince had a daughter near to her age.

So now, a day after the delegation has settled in, Plumbeline walks through the corridors of the guest suites on quiet feet, conscious that at eleven she’s much taller than she used to be, conscious of the guards who will send her back to her lessons.

“You’re trying to trick me,” she hears a girl who can only be Lady Annabelle Cheddar shout, “Well it won’t work! I’m not going to help you find someone to  _ engage  _ me to!”

The heavy door is halfway open, and she peeks around the side of the frame to see the girl stamp her foot in front of an unimpressed looking governess. She intervenes quickly, both because she knows there are better ways of getting what you want than shouting and because her father had smiled and said, “I hope you can get to know her a bit better; you’ll be concurrent rulers of your kingdoms.”

_ They should  _ all  _ be my kingdom,  _ she hadn’t said, but she’d thought it.

So she knocks politely on the open door and graciously nods at the both of them, asks, “Might Lady Cheddar accompany me to the gardens? I know you’ve never seen them,” she says, turning to speak only to Lady Annabelle, “and I think you should. It could be fun.”

Annabelle Cheddar, clearly eager to be  _ anywhere but here,  _ nods and goes bounding out into the hallway. Her governess stutters out an apology that Plumbeline ignores, following the ten-year-old future Princess of the Dairy Islands.

There’s a part of the gardens that’s  _ hers,  _ that no one goes to without her invitation, and she takes Lady Annabelle there. She won’t like the other noble children that make up Plumbeline’s playmates, she thinks. She’s right.

Still, Annabelle is perfectly willing to busy her hands making flower chains while she babbles on and on about sailing and ships and sea battles, and it’s better than another afternoon listening to Strawberli talk about her mother’s sister’s vegetanian romance. And she’s curious.

“You’re going to be the Princess of the Dairy Islands,” she says, when Annabelle takes a break to inhale. “What makes you think you’ll never have to be engaged?”

"If I’m going to be the Princess of the Dairy Islands,” Annabelle spits, abandoning the crown of flowers she’d been working at, “then nobody can  _ make  _ me do  _ anything.” _

Plumbeline, who understands a great deal more about the world than ten-year-old Annabelle seems to, still finds herself nodding. 

(In a few years, over the course of half a hundred letters, she’ll rationalize this away. She’ll say she was being indulgent, she was being a good host, she was giving Annabelle the rope with which to hang herself. That won’t be true. 

She nods in that garden that day because she believes it.)

“You’ll write to me,” Plumbeline orders, on Annabelle’s last day in Comida.

“Course I will, Plum!” she promises cheerfully, stubbornly sticking to the nickname she’s decided on.

Their fathers smile, happy to see the future in motion.

\---

Lady Annabelle visits again when she’s sixteen, accompanied by a guard of mozzarella soldiers and Sir Morris Brie, who’s main responsibility appears to be chivvying her from function to function with a frown on his face. Plumbeline, at seventeen and two short months from reaching her majority, still manages to duck out of her duties to meet with her friend.

They’re here because Tarthur Cheddar, Prince of Lacrimor, is dying. 

This is an important matter of state, Plumbeline knows, because Lady Annabelle needs the blessing of the Bulbian Church to ascend to the throne. There are murmurings about why the delegation hadn’t gone to Brightgarden, but Plumbeline doesn’t pay them much mind. Everyone and their parents know that relations between the Dairy Islands and Vegetania are not exactly warm. Annabelle’s here to get the approval of the Emperor and whoever happens to be in residence at the Great Pyramid. 

(It’s a bit of a scandal that the Pontifex didn’t make an excuse to be in Comida for this, but scandals about the faith are rarely remarked upon. They’re certainly not remarked upon in the palace.)

Annabelle is also here, according to the rumors, to get engaged.

“I hate court,” she tells Plumbeline, as they walk arm-in-arm through what remains Plumbeline’s part of the garden. “I hate dealing with the politics and bootlicking and lies. They brought me here so I could see how  _ good  _ I have it, on the Islands. See how other nobles are, and they think I’ll like mine more.”

“Have you found that to be true?” Plumbeline asks lightly, absolutely unwilling to say anything against her own people. It requires more careful maneuvering, perhaps, than Annabelle is used to. That doesn’t mean she appreciates it being used as some sort of clumsy lesson for the sole heir of House Cheddar.

“People are the same everywhere,” is all Annabelle says, and they walk on.

Two days later, after Annabelle has very publically spurned a rather well-connected member of the Berryan family, Plumbeline visits her in her rooms.

“I meant it, when we were kids,” she says, from where she’s looking out over the balcony, in the direction of the sea. “I’d sooner have a shipwreck than a spouse.”

“You’re the last of your house, after your father is gone. You didn’t really think you’d get away from it entirely, did you?” From where she’s sitting Plumbeline means to sound sympathetic, but it comes out too surprised. She’d thought... in their letters, she’d only ever written things she was prepared for her worst enemies to read. She’d thought that when Annabelle had written complaints about courtship, it had been the same

Now, running through them in her head, she sees the truth—Annabelle wrote utterly without fear. Maybe it was bravery, maybe carelessness, but all those times she’d written about turning down someone’s hand, causing offense; Plumbeline realizes that they were true.

“I’m the last of my house,” Annabelle agrees. “Who else can they put on the throne?”

“They’ll find someone, you know they will.” It feels very important, making her understand this. Making her understand that they aren’t ten and eleven, that they can’t throw tantrums and expect them to be waved off as being high-spirited anymore.

“Someone illegitimate, you mean? My father was famously faithful to my mother. There aren’t any other Cheddars running around out there, not that survived the war.”

“You have cousins, I know you do. They’ll choose one of them, prop them up as a ruler and make you bow,” Plumbeline realizes that her voice has risen, that her hands are shaking. On the balcony, Annabelle has gone utterly still.

“There are worse things I can think of,” she says carefully, “than bowing to someone else.”

“I can’t,” Plumbeline blurts, realizing that she’s gotten too honest, that she’s revealed too much of her heart, her anger. But it’s burning in her chest and they’re out there, the words she never allows herself to say.

“Can’t think of something worse? You’d chain yourself to someone forever, give them authority over your heart, for a crown that should be yours anyway? For a throne?”

“Not for  _ any  _ throne.”

Annabelle turns around, smiles, and Plumbeline’s breath catches a little bit. She’s always been charismatic; even her letters are compelling reads, but so many years without seeing her must’ve worn at her resistance to the effect. In this moment, her greatest secret hanging in the air between them, Annabelle could ask for anything and Plumbeline might just give it to her.

“You’ve never told anyone that,” she says softly, coming to sit beside her on the divan.

“Not since I was old enough to know what it means, that my father is Emperor.”

Annabelle is warm, is sitting close enough that Plumbeline can feel every shift she makes on the cushions.

“You wear your secrets on your sleeve,” Plumbeline chides gently. “Not all of us have that luxury. It would be ruinous—”

“Desires,” Annabelle interrupts, her gaze burning into Plumbeline’s face.

“What?”

“I wear my desires on my sleeve. I tell the world what I want, that I’m going to get it. And I  _ am  _ going to get it.” 

_ You belong in a story,  _ Plumbeline almost says.  _ You say these things like they’re true. _

“I don’t understand this one,” is what she actually says, “but I believe you, Bulb help us.”

“Don’t bring the  _ Bulb  _ into it, now,” Annabelle laughs, and hits her with a throw pillow.

The day before she leaves, Plumbeline finds Annabelle in her section of the garden, messing with a chain of flowers.

“We could pretend, if you like,” she offers impulsively. “We could pretend to be courting, if you wanted. If it helped you.” 

Annabelle looks at her and laughs. 

“You’re betrothed,” she says. “You’ve probably been betrothed your whole life. And I won’t pretend at a marriage, not even one with you, Plum. I won’t do it.”

She comes down to the docks, the Duchess of Uvano, and completely ignores Sir Brie and the rest of the Dairy officials.

"Don't break my heart," Plum says, but she says it like she's quoting a play, not like she means it. Almost like it’s an inside joke.

“I’d never think I could,” Annabelle retorts. She smiles, turning away to look at the horizon as they cast off.

Plumbeline watches her ship until it’s gone.

\---

When Annabelle turns eighteen, she is stripped of her titles and given a generous allowance from the royal coffers—from  _ her  _ coffers—and they bring in little cousin Primsy to be the new heir. 

Annabelle immediately gathers a crew and takes to the waters around the islands, hunting for pirates and the occasional unwary merchant from the Meat Lands or Ceresia. Not that anyone would admit to it, of course; in all ways there is peace between the kingdoms. Peace under the Bulb, under the Concord, under whatever the hell Plum’s spent her life learning to run. Annabelle doesn’t really care about the peace and her former ministers only care about the appearance of it, anyway. They care about the taxes coming in, they care about their shipping businesses having less competition; now that they’re not trying to marry her off, it’s pretty easy to manage them.

Primsy’s a sweet kid, for all she’s here to be a puppet ruler. Primsy’s her cousin, for all that she’s not a Cheddar. Primsy’s exactly what Plum had warned her about two years ago in Comida, but Annabelle had been right then. It  _ isn’t  _ the worst thing in the world, to bow to someone else. It would be worse to be married, to maybe be trapped somewhere away from the sea, to always feel like you belonged somewhere other than where you were.

Nine months after she’s been disinherited, she finds herself in Comida, escorting Primsy’s party to the palace. It’s so important for the next ruler of the Dairy Islands to get the approval of the Emperor, the blessing of the Bulbian Church. The Pontifex is in residence at the Great Pyramid for  _ Primsy’s  _ visit, of course. Annabelle doesn’t waste her time attending, doesn’t bother with the pomp the church requires.

The Fructeran nobles gossip about her presence, but she spends more time with the guards than anyone else. If she were one of them—if she were Plum, who thought bowing was the worst thing in the world—she’d probably be planning a coup right about now. They don’t understand that this is the victory condition. They hadn’t had the awful night at seventeen and a half, staring at the wall in her room, realizing that she could only be free if she was willing to throw it all away.

The Duchess of Uvano extends an invitation, for when Annabelle is done doing her duty to her noble cousin, that she might come to the imperial villa outside the city. 

There’s been some kind of trouble about Plumbeline’s betrothal, Annabelle knows, but her information on it is vague at best. Something about treason, she thinks. Clumsy, all of it, in a way she knows Plum would find completely unacceptable even if it  _ didn’t  _ result in an attempt on her father’s life.

_ I’m taking in the air,  _ she’s written on the invitation,  _ to clear my head and cure an ailment. Come and visit me when your duties allow. _

The Duchess is good at things like that, at reminding her that she still has duties. It’s meant to needle her, but they’ve become familiar barbs. Almost comforting in their repetition. 

So that’s where Annabelle finds herself, on a cool evening. Sitting across from the Duchess of Uvano, just the two of them in the pavillion, arguing over something; it might be the way Plum’s fled court, it might be something older. Annabelle doesn’t even know anymore.

“Distasteful, all of it,” Plum sighs, sipping her tea. “But if the Bulb so wills, who are we to—”

“The  _ Bulb,  _ right.”

“Will you be  _ silent!  _ Why did I even want to—”

“You know why you wanted to see me? You wanted to know if I thought it was worth it. If _ruining my life_ was worth it. And you know what?  _ It was,”  _ Annabelle spits, standing.

“I haven’t accused you of ruining your life,” Plum says wearily.

“Don’t have to accuse me of anything,  _ Duchess. _ I told you years ago what I wanted. I told you I would get it and look at me! I did.”

“You are  _ impossible,”  _ the Duchess despairs, setting her tea to the side.

“Your  _ dream  _ is impossible,” Annabelle dares to say. “You want the throne that matters, not the throne of Fructera. You want it and you know you’ll never get it.”

Plum stands suddenly, and there’s the woman from two years ago, on the divan. Breathless with anger, with a lifetime of rage pushed down. “If you think I had something to do with the attempt on my father—” 

“Of  _ course  _ you didn’t, if you did it would’ve  _ worked!” _

It says something, that that’s the declaration Annabelle goes for. That her instinct isn’t to reach for  _ you love your father,  _ but  _ if you were going to commit treason you damn well would’ve done it successfully.  _ It says something but she doesn’t dwell on it because—

Plum blinks at her for a moment before they’re both moving, colliding in the middle of the patio in a fierce embrace. It won’t last, it can’t  _ become  _ anything, and when Annabelle leaves it’ll be with the same goodbye as always. But in this moment, for one evening, Plumbeline can pretend she’s in charge of the world and Annabelle can pretend there isn’t a world to be in charge of.

\---

Annabelle arrives in Comida a full two days before she’s meant to be there. She’ll arrive again, at least on paper: bring the  _ Colby  _ into port with the rest of the Dairy Islands delegation, but this time she hitches a ride in on a merchant vessel and sneaks into the quarters of the sovereign of Fructera like she’s got any right to be there.

She splays out on the fainting couch that’s across from Plum’s mirrors, the one that’s out of immediate view of the door, and waits.

“You hear a thing or two,” she offers when Plum comes into the room, after she’s dismissed her ladies at the door. “About the tourney.”

_ “What _ are you doing here?” the Duchess hisses, all high-brow disapproval.

“Giving you my condolences,” she says, feeling strangely nostalgic. 

The last time she’d been on a fainting couch this nice, her own father had been dying. The last time she’d seen Plum in person, they’d been a few miles away from the city, almost in another world. 

They’re both silent for a moment, Annabelle laying with her legs off the end of the cushions and Plumbeline standing at her dressing table, looking in the mirror. 

At last, the Duchess sighs, something about her uncoiling. 

“Sit up a little,” she orders softly, and comes to sit so Annabelle’s head falls in her lap. 

“I’ve missed you,” she offers, leaning into the purple hand when it smooths over her forehead. “I really am sorry about the old man. I know you—I know it’s hard. When you can’t help someone.”

“The Pontifex has been needed urgently in Brightgarden,” Plum says quietly, tracing her hand along Annabelle’s jaw. “For matters of great spiritual importance. Her miracle-workers have... also been needed at their posts.”

Annabelle clenches her hands, would lever herself up into standing were it not for the touch on her face. “They would deny aid to the Emperor?”

“If the Bulb wills it,” Plum says, something wound tight in her voice, “the Church would deny aid to anyone.”

“A pack of charlatans.”

If Annabelle tilts her head just right, she can see the tip of the Great Pyramid stabbing into the city sky out the window. But Plum hums and she stops straining to see it.

“Tell me something about you,” Plum says quietly. “I don’t have any business for the next few hours, we can catch up. My father has been sleeping more and more, he’s not—we’ll be interrupted if he wakes, but he’s not likely to again today.”

“Hm. Might kill that little fuck Stilton.”

“Lord... Cordeau, isn’t it? Why?” Plum sounds curious, for all that you can trust her tone of voice anymore. 

“That trouble with the group from Candia, something’s not right. And he’s awfully close to Primsy.” Annabelle’s still working through it all, still turning things over in her head.

Plum hums to show that she’s listening, looking at the picture they make reflected in the mirror at her dressing table.

“She’s... she has a good heart, you know, but she’s too young to be smart. And he’s...”

“An opportunist?”

“I don’t know, not yet. He’s got an angle, but people are the same everywhere. Everyone has an angle.” 

“Maybe he likes her,” Plum offers. 

“He likes the Dairy Islands, that’s for sure. But hey,” and she has to pause to suppress a shiver, when Plum starts tracing patterns on her scalp. “Hey, I wanted to ask you about the tourney. I’ve heard a few things.”

“What things?”

“The winner of the joust gets to name any heir for consideration, huh?”

Plum’s gotten better at the whole keeping a straight face thing; even her hands don’t stutter, not for a moment. “You couldn’t remain an unmarried Princess, it would be  _ very  _ difficult to be an unmarried Emperor.”

“Not me, come on. Obtuse isn’t a good look for you. If I won the joust—”

“You wouldn’t win the joust, how much time do you even spend on a meep—”

_ “If I won the joust,  _ I could name any heir for consideration.”

The offer hangs, unspoken, in the quiet room. Plum takes Annabelle’s face in both hands.

“I used to wear my desires on my sleeve,” Annabelle says, mouth dry. “That doesn’t mean I never knew yours.”

“There’s something I want,” Plumbeline says after a long moment.

“Yeah,” Annabelle grins, tilting her head to look at the two of them in the mirror.

“I’m going to get it.”

**Author's Note:**

> title for this fic is a pull from ‘In Defense of Our Overgrown Garden,’ a poem by Matthea Harvey that i absolutely adore. go read it it’s v good.  
> do i have an explanation for this? is it not enough to sit there and think ‘hah, like a cheese and wine pairing’ and then run with it? is it not enough for one half of the pairing to want something almost certainly out of reach and one half to fully reject the entire system that goal rests on? can’t i just think it’s cool?   
> leave a comment and let me know what you think :)


End file.
